Elfstones are Forever
by Argonaut57
Summary: The discovery of an ancient city in a cavern beneath the Sea of Marmara is big, even for Lara Croft. The apparent confirmation of fiction as fact makes it even bigger. But none of this explains HYDRAs' interest in obtaining certain artefacts from the dig. Now Lara is on the run with HYDRA after her. Unfortunately for HYDRA, Draco Malfoy and his SHIELD team are after them!
1. Chapter 1

**Elfstones are Forever**

 **Chapter One**

Istanbul was not the most exotic location Lara Croft had ever visited, but rare finds do not always turn up in far-away places. Istanbul was once known as Constantinople, and before that as Byzantium, and had stood on the shores of the inland Sea of Marmara since 675 BCE. Enough history to inspire an archaeologist to visit, certainly, but not usually enough to draw the attention of a specialist like Lara. But these were not ordinary circumstances.

The Sea of Marmara is not very deep, around 4,490 feet at its deepest, but it lies along the path of the North Anatolian Fault. The Fault is not entirely stable, and from time to time earthquakes hit the area. One of these had occurred a year or so ago. It had not been strong enough to disturb anything on land, but had caused enough chop to sink the pleasure-yacht of a visiting American millionaire. Crew and passengers had all got off safely, but there were a number of valuable items left behind, so the owner had hired a local salvage company to retrieve them.

When the divers had located the wreck, they had also found several unusual objects in the area. Most of them had been pieces of worked stone, and had been dismissed as wreckage from one of the numerous sieges the ancient city had undergone. But the eye of one of the divers had been drawn to a metal cylinder which appeared oddly bright and untarnished, despite what must have been a long submergence. Since this was not part of the salvage they had been paid to recover, the young man had appropriated it as a souvenir.

The diver was an Australian named Jimmy Dundee, who had been a University friend of Laras'. Visiting London on holiday shortly after making the find, he had given her the cylinder as a gift, aware of her interests. Lara had carefully cleaned and examined the object. It was about a foot long and three inches in diameter, made of an unfamiliar silvery-grey metal. About four inches from one end was a band of a different metal, which seemed to be enamelled black and was sealed with a silver oval cartouche.

It was, however, the device on the cartouche that really got her adrenalin flowing. A stylised tree, surrounded by seven stars, all surmounted by a crown. Symbols readily recognisable to the fans of a popular fantasy trilogy, but of far greater significance to those who knew what Lara knew. Carefully, she cut the black metal band, leaving the seal intact, and with some difficulty opened the cylinder by pulling the end out. The seal was clearly both watertight and airtight by design, a sample of rare craftsmanship.

Inside were two rolls of thick parchment, both with seals of white wax bearing the tree-symbol. Again, Lara made shift to open the scrolls without breaking the seals. Both were covered with writing, the ink barely faded. Though they were both written in the same hand, both the scripts and the language differed. One, she could not read at all, but the other was in a language she had learned a few years before under unusual circumstances. This is what she read:

 _This day, being the fifteenth day of Ivanneth in the Year 7 of the New Reckoning (the seventh year of the King Elessar), Bergil son of Beregond is appointed to be a Guard of the White Company._

 _His Oath of Service being taken by Prince Faramir of Ithilien, in presence of the Lady Eowyn, the Thain Peregrin and Captain Beregond, said Bergil is granted all duties, rights and privileges of his station._

 _So entered by Mardil, Scribe of the Records, and sealed by King Elessar._

After that, it had simply been a matter of setting up this expedition. Underwater digs were complex operations, but much had been learned from the British experts who had dived on and salvaged the _Mary_ _Rose_ in the 1980s. Technology was also far more advanced, and Lara had support from the Stark Foundation. Modular seabed bases, rebreather helmets and enhanced exoskeleton diving suits, as well as a variety of robotic submersibles had all contributed to making this dig, if not a walk in the park, at least non-suicidal.

Working outwards from the wreck of the pleasure-yacht, they had found it to be in the middle of a fan-shaped distribution of debris. In one direction were lighter items, samples of metal-work and pottery, in a style that did not fit any known period. In another were heavier ones, increasingly large fragments of worked stone in the main. Some were plain masonry, but scattered among them were parts of statues, slabs with carved script and a six-foot section of a sculpted frieze. As much of this as was practical was carefully gathered and taken to the surface, to a Stark International warehouse, leased for the occasion. Here it was cleaned, photographed and catalogued for in-depth study later.

The source of the debris proved to be a vast crevasse in the seabed, previously unmapped and probably a result of the quake. The robotic submersible that they sent down revealed a massive cavern containing, incredibly, the ruins of a city.

Using the robots, they surveyed the site as best they could. The city had obviously backed up against a mountain, and had been built in a series of circles around a wedge-shaped precipice that thrust out. Three circles were visible above a mass of silt and rock, but penetrating scanners indicated at least four more existed below. Tunnels had been cut in the precipice to allow passage from one side of the city to the other, but the uppermost circle stood on top of it. Images showed a good many buildings -some in ruins, some intact – and the remains of what must have been a beautiful, slender tower at the very pinnacle.

Having satisfied themselves that the area was stable, at least for now, Lara and her team finally ventured into the city itself. Almost immediately, they found something unique. Resting on top of the rubble inside the collapsed tower, as if it had been kept at the very top. It was a globe of dark crystal, perhaps a foot in diameter, and very heavy for its size. This was immediately taken topside.

Explorations carried on. Lara was paired with Jimmy, who had insisted on joining as soon as he knew she was in town.

"Wonder what Dads' gonna say about this?" Jimmy pondered as they made their way around the perimeter of an extensive but ruined palace.

"He'd tell you you're mad, but he'll be proud of you anyway." Lara replied.

"He reckons it's the Yank in me." Jimmy admitted.

Lara grinned behind her helmet. Jimmy's parents, legendary Australian bushman Mick 'Crocodile' Dundee and his American wife Linda, had always supported, but never understood, their sons' love of deep diving. Jimmy was earning a reputation as a fearless and skilled salvage diver, and Lara was happy to have him along on this expedition for that as much as for their friendship.

By this time, they had arrived toward the rear of the palace, and had encountered a wall that seemed to separate off a small section of land between the palace and what had been the mountain. A large, arched gateway stood before them, a few rusted pieces of metal scattered in the silt testifying to the fact that a door, long rotted away, had once closed the way. Beyond was a street lined with windowless buildings of common design but differing size.

"Some kind of temple quarter?" Jimmy wondered.

"Don't think so." Lara said. "In most cities the main temple or cathedral or whatever is as central and prominent as the palace or government buildings. No, those buildings look like tombs to me. This is some kind of necropolis. Probably for nobility and royalty, worth a look."

The buildings here had been protected by the bulk of the palace on one side and the mountain on the other, and so were mostly intact, though a few had fallen in. The wooden doors had all rotted away, but if Lara had any hope of grave goods, she was to be disappointed. The tombs were as uniform within as without, the walls lined with slabs, most occupied by skeletons in the rotted or rusted remains of garments or armour. Some personal jewellery was in evidence, but little else.

"Did they just leave them on those slabs, to rot out in the open?" Jimmy asked. "Gross!"

"Unless they had some way of preserving them, or maybe they stripped the flesh and cleaned the bones before they put them in here." Lara said. "With enough care, you can boil a body down to the bones, then clean and re-articulate them."

"Still gross!" Jimmy opined.

"True, but the forensic pathologists are going to love these guys!" Lara told him. "C'mon, I want to see inside the big one at the end of the street."

The slabs above the doors, which might once have indicated the families whose dead rested within, had long been effaced by the action of millennia of sea-water. But this tomb, though of the same basic design as the others, was much larger, and raised above the ground level. Within were several rooms, each lined with the usual slabs, all occupied by silent tenants.

But from one room, there came an odd green glow. Not the glow of decay, or the bio-luminescence of some deep-sea creature. It reminded Lara of the spring sunlight shining through the leaves in the park near her home. Without a word, the two divers followed the light.

On a slab in the far corner of the room, resting on the remains of a cloak it had clearly once fastened, was a heavy silver brooch – the metal oddly untarnished – in the shape of a spread-winged eagle. Set into the brooch was a large, clear green stone, and this was the source of the light.

"Even I know stones don't glow by themselves!" Jimmy noted. "Is it radioactive?"

The Stark-designed diving helmets included a small but efficient sensor array -sophisticated enough to warn of any immediate danger such as water-borne toxins, large creatures and high levels of radiation. The head-up display in Laras' helmet was giving no indication of danger.

"No, we're good." She said. "Whatever that gem is radiating, it isn't immediately toxic."

"Well, if they buried him with that, this guy must have been somebody special!" Jimmy stated.

Lara examined the skeleton. She had taken a course in forensic pathology, and while she was by no means an expert, she could make some judgements. He must have been tall – the skeleton alone was well over two metres long – and mature, if not very old, he still had all his teeth. Other than the brooch, he had no ornamentation and the cloak that was the last remnant of his clothing was surprisingly intact. Under the powerful beam of Laras' helmet lamp it's colour appeared a silver-grey.

His slab was set in a niche, and above it two carved stones had been set into the wall. Protected from erosion, the deep carvings on them remained clear. There were two inscriptions, in different languages.

"Make any sense of those?" Jimmy wanted to know.

"The one on the left, yes." Lara replied. "The language is called Westron, and I learned it in a place called Vie de Marlie a few years back. This one says:

 _Here lieth Aragorn son of Arathorn, who took the Crown in the name of Elessar Telcontar. Sixteenth Chieftain of the Dunedain, six-and-twentieth King of Arnor, thirty-fifth King of Gondor and first High King of the Realm Reunited. Heir of Isildur, wielder of the Sword Reforged and Companion of the Ring. He was laid to rest in this the House of Kings in Minas Anor in the hundred and twenty second year of the New Age and the two-hundred-and-tenth year of his life._

"Hell of an old guy to have all his own teeth!" Was all Jimmy said.

"Hmph!" Lara commented. "I might not have the translation right and anyway, we don't know how long these peoples' years might have been. Not every culture has the same notions of time as we do."

"Suppose so." Jimmy allowed. "Were these his kids, you reckon?"

Nearby were two smaller niches, the skeletons in them were both less than a metre-and-a-half long. Both also wore the remains of grey cloaks, fastened with silver brooches in the shape of a leaf, and each had a silver belt made from similar, linked leaves. Lara examined them more closely.

"These aren't kids." She stated. "Both have wisdom teeth erupted and the cranial sutures are closed. I'm not even sure they're actually human! Hominids, certainly, but not _Homo Sapiens_. Something isn't right about the skulls."

"There's some more of that writing above them." Jimmy noted.

Two more epitaphs in Westron. The first read:

 _Here lieth Peregin Trollslayer, son of Paladin, of the House of Took. Thain of the Shire, Councillor of the North Kingdom, Knight of Gondor, Guard of the Citadel and Companion of the Ring._

The second:

 _Here lieth Meriadoc Holdwine, son of Saradoc, of the House of Brandybuck. Master of Buckland, Councillor of the North Kingdom, Knight of the Riddermark, Sword-thain to King Theoden and Companion of the Ring._

"What's this 'Companion of the Ring' thing all about?" Jimmy wanted to know. "Freemasonry or something?"

"Beats me." Lara admitted. "Right, we'll leave the bodies for now, they'll need specialist handling. But we'll take the brooches and the belts, as well as that big brooch with the emerald. Let's get them bagged and tagged.

"Then we'll go and see what the others have found."

The discovery of such a spectacular site was usually cause for jubilation among a team, not argument. But the voices Lara heard when she finally reached the warehouse were raised in dispute, not celebration. As she and Jimmy entered, David was saying:

"It doesn't matter a damn anyway! The Establishment covered it up before, and they'll cover it up, now!"

Well, that was par for the course for David. The excitable young Yale graduate lived in a maze of conspiracy theories, and was inclined to claim that the finding of a common piece of Roman pottery a metre north of where the records said it would be was a sign of a cover-up. Lara tolerated his eccentricities because he could piece together a ceramic artefact out of a pile of tiny fragments in a matter of hours.

But David was clearly the third corner of this argument, and a minor one at that. The two main protagonists were Dr Arthur Sinclair – a tall, gaunt Oxford don in his sixties, expert in ancient writings – and Dr Avery Michaels – stocky, in his thirties, a Miskatonic University lecturer with an unequalled knowledge of prehistoric architecture.

Dr Michaels rolled his eyes at David, then turned again to Sinclair. "Look, Art, this is the find of a lifetime, I get that. We all get that. But it's a buried city, that's all. Until we can find carvings that tell us something, we won't even know what it was called, or who lived in it. Right now, the architecture looks simple, classical, even, and the sculptures look more realistic than stylised. I'd like to say it was Greek or Roman, but there are no records of a city here in either culture. It may be older. There are books back at Miskatonic that claim there are whole cycles of civilisation before the current one. We have to reserve judgement."

Sinclair sighed. "I do understand your caution, Avery. I am conscious of the need for it myself. But you know as well as I do that the Press are not, by and large, an academic lot. This dive and dig has already attracted considerable attention, not in the least abated by our leaders' well-earned celebrity status – I'm sorry, Lara, but it's true – and our caution in revealing our findings thus far.

"These people are not noted for patience or understanding – they want a story and they want it now, their livelihoods depend upon it. Many of them are well-funded enough to obtain sufficient equipment to dive on the site themselves, and we have no way of preventing them. They will undoubtedly observe what we have and draw the, to them, obvious conclusion. The result will be a media frenzy."

"That's gonna happen anyway." Michaels told him. "So what? It happened with King Tut and the _Mary Rose_. It never hurts to get people interested in what we do."

"Indeed not." Sinclair allowed. "But the tomb of Tut-ankh-amun and the wreck of the _Mary Rose_ were both stable sites. The findings there could be independently corroborated and there were historical records extant to back them. Here, we have an active fault running through a submerged and subterranean site. Another quake could bury the city, seal the cavern or even collapse it. We also have no reliable records from other sources to back us up.

"My point is that if we do not immediately obtain independent and unimpeachable support for our discovery, we will find ourselves being accused of a hoax comparable to Rennes-le-Chateau, the Hitler Diaries or the Piltdown Man."

"And if we do start telling people, any people, about this, we risk losing credit for the discovery or turning the whole damn thing into a circus!" Michaels snapped.

"Just a minute!" Lara said firmly. "What exactly are we talking about here? It's a big find, yes, but why all the paranoia? Is there something I should know?"

Both men looked at her. Then Sinclair said:

"You've never read _The Lord of the Rings_ , have you?"

"No." Lara said. "I read Temperance Brennan and Richard Castle, not fantasy. Why?"

"Because," Michaels said heavily, "the city we just found is virtually identical to JRR Tolkiens' description of the city of Minas Tirith in Gondor. It's a really important site in the books and the scene of one of the decisive battles."

"Oh, well that is odd!" Lara agreed. "Though it's probably a coincidence. I managed to translate a funeral slab in a tomb, and this place is called Minas Anor."

Michaels and Sinclair exchanged a glance, then Sinclair said. "I think it mentions in one of the Appendices that after the War of the Ring, Aragorn changed the name of the city back to Minas Anor."

"Aragorn?" Jimmy queried. "That's the guy whose gravestone Lara read!"

"Wait a moment!" Sinclair exclaimed. "How could you read it? What language is it in?"

"An old one called Westron." Lara told him. "I learned it a few years back from some...monks. In the Himalayas. They use it in their chants and things. Is that important?"

"Westron was the so-called 'common tongue' or _lingua franca_ of Tolkiens' Middle-Earth." Sinclair explained. "It's the language rendered as English in the books.

"Look, there is a ...a metafiction associated with the books. Basically, it goes that Tolkien acquired an ancient tome called the 'Red Book of Westmarch', and that he translated and edited part of it to publish. Everyone thought he was just making it up for a laugh. I mean, I was an undergrad at Oxford in the late 60s and early 70s when the old man moved back there after his wife died. I met him once, at a college function, and he was a funny chap, loved a joke.

"But, if this city Is what it seems to be, then it wasn't a joke after all.

"Lara, this is big, bigger than anything that's happened since the Dalek invasion. It could push our knowledge of human history further into the past than we ever imagined. We need to get some big guns in on this before the press find out!"

Lara took a deep breath. "I can do this." She muttered to herself, it was her personal mantra. Then aloud, she said. "Right, here's what we do. Avery, Arthur, start calling round to the people you know. Solid, reputable people who can bring their own teams if necessary. Call your rivals as well as your allies, we want this wide open so nobody can call us biased.

"The rest of you, get on with your work. Clean or preserve, photograph, sketch, catalogue and label. By the book, everybody, OK?

"Divers, get some rest. We go down again tomorrow, and every day while the site is still accessible.

"I've got some people I can call, who might be able to help.

"Let's do this, and let's do it properly!"

Despite her own instructions, it was after midnight when Lara finally settled back in her seat at the desk in the warehouse office she had appropriated. A long and anxious email to the Temple of the Sword in Vie de Marlie had been the precursor to a lot of research on Professor Tolkien and his books, as well as a search of such portions of their collection of unthinkably ancient texts as Misaktonic University had deemed fit to share online. Her mind was swimming with information that might be myth or might, incredibly, be fact.

Half-forgotten tales of an ancient and advanced human civilisation in a primal world shared with other intelligent races - Elves, Dwarfs and Halflings – and riven by terrible wars against monstrous enemies. But nothing clear, nothing sequential except the best-selling fantasy trilogy written by an English academic in the 1950s. But that trilogy still had a thriving and loyal fan base – enough to generate thirty-five million hits on Google. All those people – how would they react if this Minas Anor turned out to be the city of the Men of Gondor in actual fact? Lara felt dizzy and more than a little sick. She had faced death frequently, survived situations her background and education could not have prepared her for. She had seen things she could neither explain nor fully understand. But this was massive, huge! It might very well change the world. Or it might be a storm in a teacup. Speaking of which...

Lara was just about to get up and put the kettle on when the dark crystal globe, which rested on her desk, caught her eye. She had dried it up and cleaned it off earlier, noting its perfect surface -without a chip or scratch, despite the fact that it must have gone through the collapse of the ruined tower they had found it in. but now something had changed. Before it had been black, but now there was a red glow deep inside the globe. As she looked, the glow grew more intense, and the room around her faded until she was aware of nothing but the crystal.

Then, quite suddenly, there was a face. A mans' face. Thin but strong, with a neat moustache and beard, dark hair with white patches at the temples, and piercing blue eyes. He stared at her for a moment, then said. "Who are you?" The tone and accent was that of an educated American, but before she could reply, he went on. "Wait, I have seen your picture in the papers. Dr Lara Croft, the archaeologist."

"That's right." She found herself replying . "Who the Hell are you?"

"I am Stephen Strange." He replied.

"Never heard of you." Lara responded. "Are you a wizard or something?"

"Yes." He told her. "Strange that you should know of wizards but not of me."

"I met wizards in Vie de Marlie." She told him."I didn't know there _were_ any anywhere else. Or is that where you are?"

"No, I am in New York." He answered. "How have you come into possession of a _palantir_?"

"You mean this crystal ball thing?" She asked. "I found it on a dig today. What's your business with it, or me?"

"Magic, of course." He gave a grim smile. "A professional interest, you might say. I have one like it, and I believed all the others were lost, until mine activated by itself a few moments ago.

"Dr Croft, you must understand that while this thing is in your possession you are in great danger. There are people, and worse than people, who would not hesitate to kill to get hold of it. You must bring it to me in New York," he gave her an address in Greenwich Village, "or place it in the keeping of Warehouse 13 or Torchwood Four, or even the Temple of the Sword, if you know Vie de Marlie.

"Whatever your decision, I will send out messages to my allies and friends in the world. You are not alone. Those that have power for good will be on the watch, look for help where you least expect it.

"Now we must end this. The longer we remain in contact, the sooner they will find you. Move swiftly, and be safe."

Then he was gone, and the crystal was black again.

Lara barely had time to digest what had happened when a babble of shouts broke out in the warehouse below, to be silenced by a single shot. Then she heard a single raised voice. A mans', with the flat vowels and bitten-off consonants of an Afrikaaner.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you are now in the care of HYDRA. If you all remain still and silent for a short time, none of you will be harmed. Any attempt to resist or escape will be met with deadly force.

"Now, my men are going to perform a search of your finds. Rest assured that they will damage nothing. HYDRA is as aware as anyone of the importance of this discovery. However, we have reason to believe that you have found certain items which are the rightful property of HYDRA, and we intend to reclaim them.

"Should we choose to question any of you, it is in your best interests to answer immediately and truthfully."

Almost without thinking, Lara had reached into her desk drawer and pulled out the 9mm SIG she always kept within reach. The doorknob was turned quietly, and she swung the gun into a firing position, only to lower it at once as Jimmy slipped through the door. He came close and spoke in a rapid murmur.

"Christ, luv, it's a good job I know you like to work in the dark! Look, there's about a dozen blokes down there, armed to the teeth, going through the stuff. Reckon they're after the jewels we found."

"Who's in charge?" She asked.

Jimmy shrugged. "The South African. Got a bloody great scar on his face, and I reckon he's as mad as a cut snake. He's looking to hurt somebody if he gets the chance. He finds us hiding in here, we're up shit creek!"

"Ok, ok." Lara said. "This is what we do..."

"Standartenfuhrer? The office above was empty, and there are no signs of the items there."

The scarred man grunted, then turned to Sinclair, who had been allowed to stand up.

"Who was using that office? Was it Dr Croft?" He demanded.

Sinclair shrugged. "She was using it earlier today. But she was on the dive and will have been tired. She could have left any time in the last five or six hours without being noticed. We were all working at this end of the warehouse and would not necessarily have seen her."

Piet van Roek said nothing, but his artificial hand clenched and blue sparks crackled around it.

"Sir," the operative who had spoken before said quietly, "our orders..."

"I am aware!" van Roek snapped. Then he turned to Sinclair again and spoke with a forced politeness. "We will be leaving now. I advise you to remain quiet for at least forty minutes before contacting the authorities. Should you act in any way precipitately, the consequences would be unpleasant. There are explosive devices placed around and inside this building which will detect any attempt at external communication as well as any attempt to leave. These devices will automatically disarm precisely thirty minutes after our departure.

"Please continue your excellent work, Dr Sinclair. But do advise Dr Croft, should she contact you, that the consequences of taking and retaining HYDRA property are severe!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Elfstones are Forever**

 **Chapter Two**

Dr Sinclair was more than a little surprised to discover that the SHIELD team leader was an Englishman, indeed an aristocrat, if his bearing and easy courtesy was anything to go by. Nevertheless, Agent Malfoy directed his team and conducted his investigation thoroughly and professionally.

"You are sure," the tall blond man asked, "that HYDRA was in search of something specific?"

"Entirely." Sinclair averred. "They were extremely careful with the finds, not even touching the more fragile items, but the way they passed things over indicated that they did have particular items in mind."

"And you say they did not find them?" Draco continued.

Sinclair shook his head. "Their leader – the scarred man they called ' _Standartenfuhrer_ ' - was very angry about that. I think he was contemplating violence until one of his men reminded him of their orders.

"I was surprised. I have been given to understand that HYDRA operatives are entirely ruthless?"

"As am I, upon occasion." Draco admitted. "But it is clear that HYDRA saw no value in killing anyone here, and that they seemed to regard your work as of some importance.

"Now, you said that you and your colleague Dr Michaels had taken a full inventory after they left. Is there, in fact, anything missing?"

"Yes." Sinclair told him. "Two items. A large and heavy crystal sphere, and a silver brooch in the shape of an eagle, set with an unusual, self-luminescent, green gemstone."

"Arguably, then, two of the most valuable items found thus far?" Draco queried.

Sinclair shrugged. "That depends upon your definition of 'value', Agent Malfoy. Such trinkets excite the interest of the general public, and so-called 'treasure-hunters', of course. But as an archaeologist, I find greater value in shards of everyday pottery, scribbled graffiti and the contents of midden-heaps. Such items tell us far more about the day-to-day lives of the people of this city than all the jewellery of the wealthy!"

"Quite so." Draco agreed. "Nevertheless, I have to infer that, since these items are missing, and HYDRA failed to find what they sought, then these must be the objects in question. Where were they kept?"

"In the back office, the one your Agent Rosenberg is investigating." Sinclair told him.

"Ah! The office used by Dr Croft, who is currently, as my team-mates would say, 'in the wind'. You say you did not see her leave? Is it possible she took the items with her?" Draco enquired.

"Possible, yes, but it would be uncharacteristic." Sinclair stated. "Dr Croft, despite her celebrity status, is a total professional. She would not abscond with finds on the grounds of mere cupidity."

Draco was about to reply, when the comlink in his ear beeped. With an apologetic gesture toward Sinclair, he turned aside.

"Malfoy." He said quietly.

"Boss, it's Cypher." Doug Ramsays' voice was urgent. "You're azure."

"Understood." Draco replied crisply. "We're finished here, anyway. Round everyone up and we'll meet on the plane." He turned back to Sinclair. "My apologies, Doctor, but I have just received new information. My team and I will now leave you in peace. My best advice is to continue your work and to carry out the instructions Dr Croft gave you yesterday regarding corroboration of your findings.

"A SHIELD security team will be onsite shortly, they will not interfere with your work. Should Dr Croft contact you, please let them know.

"Thank you for the copies of your notes and reports. Be assured they will remain confidential until you tell us otherwise."

Draco Malfoy looked around the conference room at his team. As a schoolboy, he had assumed an air of cold arrogance as cover for a painful shyness. He was still uncomfortable in all but the most familiar company. The fact that he was about to address this many people, from such varied backgrounds, without a hint of apprehension was an indication of how far he had come since then. Astoria would be pleased, indeed she was pleased.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "I think I should begin with a brief recap of the known facts so far. Yesterday, at about midnight local time, a magical device called a _palantir_ was activated in the warehouse we have just visited. A _palantir_ is an ancient and sophisticated scrying device resembling a large crystal globe.

"Until that point, only one was known to be extant, and that is in the possession of Dr Stephen Strange. Using his own _palantir_ , Dr Strange was able to communicate with the person using the other, who he identified as the noted archaeologist Dr Lara Croft. Dr Croft claimed to have found the item on her current dig. Dr Strange then warned her of the dangers inherent in the possession of such an artefact and advised her to surrender it to someone capable of guarding it. He then terminated the conversation and immediately contacted WAND to inform them what had happened.

"An hour after this, SHIELD received a call from the Turkish authorities indicating that HYDRA personnel had conducted a bloodless raid on the warehouse in question. Clearly this was not a coincidence, and Director Rogers has assigned us to find out what is going on.

"It is now clear that Dr Croft and her team have discovered an cavern beneath the sea which contains the ruins of a city. The structure of the city itself, along with certain documented finds within it, appear to identify it as Minas Tirith, or Minas Anor, a city better known from its part in a famous high fantasy trilogy written by an Oxford don in the middle of the last century. A trilogy which I gather has been read by everyone around this table, including myself.

"We now know that HYDRA were in search of specific items. We also know that Dr Croft has disappeared with two items from the dig, at least one of which seems to be the _palantir_. I deduce, therefore, that the items taken by Dr Croft are the ones HYDRA is after.

"Do we have any more? Agent Ramsay?"

"The warehouse is bugged." Cypher told them. "Has been for some time, I think. At least since the dig team started using it as their HQ. HYDRA tech, digital, new configuration or I'd have found them sooner. But whoever planted them didn't have full access, because there are several blind spots, including the office."

"Ah, yes, the office. Did you find anything of interest there, Miss Rosenberg?" Draco asked.

"Well, HYDRA didn't carry out a thorough search." Willow remarked. "Dr Crofts' laptop was still there. Looks like she'd been researching Tolkien for most of the evening until about twelve local. She'd also sent a long email to an address with a domain name I don't recognise. I sent it to Cypher.

"There was a window in the office that let onto a fire escape. The window was closed but unlocked. I used some forensic spells and they showed that two people had gotten out of the window around 12:20. They must've known that HYDRA would be watching the alley, because they didn't go down, but jumped across to the next building – a six-foot jump, anyone reasonably fit could've made it – and gone off over the rooftops.

"I didn't want to follow them too far in daylight in case HYDRA still has people in the area. I could've asked Gabbi, but I figured you wouldn't want her using the Sight with so many muggles about."

"Wise." Gabrielle Delacour noted. "Not all muggles are insensitive to magic."

"Very well." Draco said. "Then our priority is to locate Dr Croft. I will leave that in the capable hands of agents Ramsay and Rosenberg. The rest of you will no doubt find something useful to do in the interim.

"Rhodes, a private word?"

When the others were gone, Rhodey looked at Draco and asked. "What's up, Boss?"

Draco steepled his hands – an habitual gesture indicating a degree of concern.

"As you know, Rhodes," he began, "the initial alert from Dr Strange came through to WAND, which as a division of SHIELD, naturally passed the matter up to HQ. We also know that the good Doctor informed the White Council, UNIT and the Brotherhood of the Sword. All of these, as per our usual arrangements, will share information and resources with us.

"However, I suspect – and Director Rogers agrees with me – that Strange has very likely passed on his warning to other organisations, as well. In particular, I am concerned with Torchwood Four and Warehouse 13. Both of those organisations operate outside any supervision, and are known for maverick methodology.

"We will need to keep our eyes peeled, Rhodes, and not to automatically assume that any third-party intervention is hostile."

"Noted." Rhodey responded. "We don't have a quarrel with those guys, and we don't need to start one, right?"

"Quite so." Draco nodded, then shifted uncomfortably. "There is another matter, Rhodes. One of a personal nature. You read the witness descriptions of the man who led the HYDRA team, of course?"

Rhodey nodded. "It was Piet van Roek. Again. Sounds as if he got himself demoted, general to colonel if I understand those SS ranks right."

"You do." Draco allowed. "It is somewhat ironic that, although the Red Skull claims to have gone beyond Nazi ideology, he nevertheless retains the titles and structure of the SS within his organisation.

"However, it is, as you say, not the first time we have encountered Mynheer van Roek. I know he has good cause to hate me personally, but I find myself beginning to develop a positive dislike for him. Should we encounter him directly, it is possible that I will become less than professional. This would likely endanger the team and the mission."

"So you want me to warn you if I see it starting?" Rhodey asked.

"I want you to knock me down and sit on me, if necessary." Draco said firmly. "I would not allow an operative to endanger the team for a personal vendetta, and I expect you to perform the same function for me, Rhodes. Are we clear?"

"Crystal." Rhodey allowed. "But just so you know, if you get a clear, safe shot, I won't stop you taking it."

"All other things being equal, I would not expect you to." Draco replied. "But now, I think a spot of lunch is in order."

One thing about the Boss, Rhodey noted, was that he made sure nobody missed any meals they didn't have to!

"OK, so the last traces we have of Lara Croft, as Lara Croft, happened between one am and three am local time." Cypher was saying. "There were two large cash withdrawals from AMTs at opposite ends of the city, then she went to Istanbul Airport and claimed the contents of a left-luggage locker. At that point, she drops off the grid.

"But I had an inkling, so I asked the airport to send over details of any cash ticket purchases between three am and now. At seven this morning, a Linda Cummings – British national – paid cash for a one-way flight to New York JFK. I got hold of the security footage and ran facial recognition. This is what I got."

The large plasma screen showed a young woman with long dark hair, dressed in a vaguely hippy style and wearing heavy-rimmed spectacles. She was behaving in a distinctly scatty manner and giggled a lot. Very different from the poised and scholarly Lara Croft as she appeared in magazines and TV interviews.

"I know." Cypher answered the unspoken questions. "Clothing, body language, look. All different. But facial recognition doesn't lie. Linda Cummings is Lara Croft. People using fake names tend to keep their initials, I don't know why."

"It would seem," Draco said, "that Dr Croft is a person of some resource. It is not usual for archaeologists to have a set of forged identity documents. On the other hand, some of Dr Crofts' past activities have been...colourful.

"Do we have anything else?"

"Yeah." Cypher grinned. "I did a search on Linda Cummings. It seems that between retrieving her stuff and buying her ticket, Dr Croft dispatched a small but heavy parcel via confidential courier to Boston, Massachusetts, to be called for. Paid up front in cash.

"Courier is called 'Penguin Confidential Logistics', based in Boston. According to their website they specialise in 'small, high-value' items and promise discretion and safety of the goods. Apart from that there's just a list of offices in airports round the world and a contact email. Oh, and a coat of arms instead of a logo!"

"Hum!" Draco examined the shield. "Per fess, vert and argent. In chief three wheatsheaves d'or, in base an Emperor penguin, statant, proper. Not familiar, but that's hardly surprising. Check the College of Arms, there can't be many arms that have a penguin on them."

Draco was right. "Here it is!" Cypher announced. "A grant of arms made to Joseph Cobblepot, merchant and victualler, of London in 1915, in recognition of his work in supplying the 1910 and 1914 Antarctic Expeditions of Scott and Shackleton. The current bearer is his great-great grandson, Oswald Cobblepot, who is owner and CEO of Penguin Confidential Logistics. Dual nationality – American mother – lives in Boston.

"By the way. The email Dr Croft sent was to someone at the Temple of the Sword in Vie de Marlie."

"It's an 11-hour flight from Istanbul to New York." Rhodey noted. "We can be there in four. Less if somebody takes the Jumper."

"That would be unwise." Draco said. "We are no doubt under surveillance. The last thing we need to do at the moment is attract undue attention to Dr Crofts' probable location. We are also lacking in certain background information. Nevertheless, I am reluctant to leave Dr Croft in the open, as it were."

"I know a way to get her some off-the-books help." Cypher noted.

"I did not, of course, hear that suggestion." Draco told him. "But should Dr Croft acquire some allies, it would set my mind at rest.

"Now, we should prepare to depart for Boston. Rhodes, you will take Agents Kent, Delacour and Rosenberg there and find out what it is Dr Croft sent, securing it if necessary.

"Once we are out of sight of land, Agents Wayne and Ramsay will accompany me in the Jumper to Vie de Marlie in search of background intel.

"Depending upon developments, we will rendezvous in either Boston or New York. Shall we proceed?"

"Ok, people!" Rhodey said. "You heard the man! Wheels up in thirty!"

Lara had guessed that the Linda Cummings identity would have a limited lifespan, especially if HYDRA were after her. That didn't matter too much if it got her to her safe house in New York. She had other papers there. More importantly, she had the gear to get in direct contact with Father Simeon. He was the only person she trusted to tell her if this Strange character was on the up-and-up.

What she hadn't expected was to be made as soon as she got off the plane. But the two men who had been trailing her since Immigration were definitely suspect. She'd thought HYDRA was a paramilitary group, but these two were something else. Professionals, without a doubt, you could see them watching everything, assessing the area. More importantly, they were deftly avoiding surveillance. That took some doing in a post -9/11 JFK, and Lara didn't make it any easier for them by making sure she was full in the field of any and all cameras.

Still, that had its' disadvantages in that she had to do what was expected of her. The Cummings identity wouldn't run to hiring a car – no credit card – so she'd have to take a cab. Apparently, that was what they'd counted on, because as soon as she reached the rank, a taxi swept up with more than usual haste. From the corner of her eye, Lara saw one of her 'attendants' deftly blocking the approach of the cab which had been legitimately next in line. In the window of the taxi, she could also see the other approaching behind her rather too quickly for comfort. She was to be bundled into the cab and whisked away, no doubt. Yeah. Right.

Things were about to get noisy when a womans' voice shouted "Linda! Over here, lassie!"

An older woman, late forties, early fifties, it was hard to say. Slim and a little taller than Lara herself, wearing black slacks and jacket over a white blouse, with a tartan scarf round her neck. Moving too quickly to be interrupted, she swept Lara into a sinewy embrace, whispered "Jane." into her ear, then said aloud.

"I was sure I'd missed ye, pet! Ye're lookin' grand!"

"Auntie Jane!" Lara squealed, in Linda Cummings high-pitched, girlish tones. "I couldn't remember whether I'd given you the right flight number. When you weren't at the terminal I just thought 'durr' and came to find a cab!"

"Och, it's my own fault, lass. Uncle Jimmy's leg is playing up, and I'd to make him comfy before I left. Come on, I'm parked in short stay, and your uncle would no' thank me for gettin' a fine!"

She all but dragged Lara off, chattering at high speed about Uncle Jimmy and his poor leg and what a fine lass the wee girl had grown into. But she was watching everything as she bundled her companion into a silver-grey SUV and set off toward the city. For a while, she drove in silence, motioning Lara to hold her questions for now. Then she loosened the scarf and appeared to switch on some kind of microphone.

"Three." She said. "In a checker cab four cars back. Have you got them?" She paused a moment, obviously listening to a reply. "OK, but try not to make too much mess."

A few moments later there was a screech of brakes and a crash from behind. Lara twisted round in her seat in time to see a checker cab hanging half-way across the central barrier. She turned to Jane, who simply said. "Don't ask."

"Ok, ok." Lara said, as much to herself as anyone. "Then can I ask who you are and what you want with me?"

"I'm Jane, like I said." The Scots accent was more muted now, but still present. "Somebody contacted the man I work for and asked us to look after you, Dr Croft, and that's what we'll do. You'll not be needing the SIG, dearie. Not right now. Save it for later."

"You know my name? My real name?" Lara was taken aback.

"Oh, aye, we know all about you." Jane said easily. "Dr Lara Croft. Three years ago you were a young graduate with an obsession about the Japanese legend of Himiko the Sun Queen, out on her first expedition. You were shipwrecked on an island where the inhabitants were half-insane cultists. Somehow you found your way out with most of your friends and some incredible finds. Enough to get you your doctorate. You've been chasing, and finding, legends ever since.

"Latest story is that you found something big under the Sea of Marmara. News and internet chatter has it that half the distinguished archaeologists in Europe and North America are on their way to Istanbul to examine what your team found.

"All that apart, you seem to have stirred up a hornets' nest, lassie. What made you run out on your team and come here under a false name?"

"It's complicated." Lara allowed. "I can't – won't - tell you all of it. Mostly because I'm not sure I believe more than half of it myself.

"All I can say is that I found something that has bad people chasing me, and that somebody promised to help if I can get to him. But I need to find out if I can trust him first."

"By 'bad people', you mean HYDRA?" Jane asked. "Oh, don't look so worried. The person who contacted my boss is SHIELD. We can put two and two together.

"But right now, wee girl, we're going to a safe house where you can get yourself some food, a shower and a few hours' sleep. You look done in. Then after that I'll take you wherever you want to go!"

Lara was not sure she wasn't being scammed somehow. But she was weary, hungry and grubby. There'd be time to turn the tables or get away later. Besides, she didn't think she was up to taking on this woman at the moment. Under the motherly warmth there was more than a hint of steel, and she definitely had back-up, of a very professional kind.

"Who's this person you need to see?" Jane asked.

"His names' Strange, Stephen Strange." Lara was hoping to get some information, so she had to give some. "I researched him on the flight. He's a doctor, used to be a famous neurosurgeon. Bit of an arsehole by all accounts, as well. Had an accident at the peak of his career that ruined his hands – for surgery anyway. He dropped out of sight after that – rumours say he went out East somewhere. Came back a few years later and settled in Greenwich Village. He's mostly a recluse, but he's on the boards of a couple of charities and does lecture at the local medical schools.

"I've only spoken with him the once and he seems a bit...weird. But he also seems to know something about what I found. What HYDRA are after."

"Hmm." Jane mused. "I'll see what my people can find out. Here we are!"

The safe house proved to be the top-floor apartment of a brownstone mansion. Far enough out of the heart of Manhattan to be private, but not so far as to admit of any loud shenanigans without drawing the attention of New Yorks' Finest. A young Oriental man was waiting outside bearing Chinese food. He obviously wasn't a delivery boy, and Jane thanked him warmly, calling him Som.

Lara showered quickly, but gratefully, ate heartily and was almost ecstatic to be given a large mug of hot, sweet tea, a beverage she had once described to a Jewish friend as 'Britains' equivalent of chicken soup'. After that she had no option but to sleep.

Jane Fleming could have done with some sleep herself, but she had things to do first. It had been one long rush since Bett had summoned them with more than his usual peremptoriness. The need to get to New York ahead of the lumbering commercial flight their target was booked on had been foreseen by their contact, who apparently had enough pull, not only to have a Stark International executive jet waiting for them at Nice, but to have the pilot wordlessly hand the plane off to Rebekah.

Their orders had been to follow and not intervene unless a threat emerged. One had, earlier than expected, and Jane had been forced to improvise. The lass was quick on the uptake, though, picking up on the 'Auntie Jane' thing without batting an eyelid. Jane had thought she might be. Lara Croft had once been dropped into a situation like nothing she'd experienced before, and it had wakened something in her that would never sleep again. Jane Fleming knew all about that! Once Jane had Lara safely under her wing, it had been child's play for Somboon and Armand to deal with their pursuers.

But now Jane had to let Bett know what was happening, and what she'd learned from Lara. He listened, he was good at that. He asked a few terse questions, but not too many – he trusted her judgement. Jane was the only one of the team who'd been trusted with the information that SHIELD was the source of this job.

"It's off the books." He'd told her. "SHIELD aren't supposed to use outside contractors without going through a long process. They got bitten badly by that in the 70s. But the contact is somebody I know and nobody I want to upset. We won't get paid, as such, but..."

"But what goes around comes around." She'd finished for him – she was the only one allowed to do that as well. "They'll owe us one, and they'll find a way to make it good."

Now he had more information for her. "We've been lucky, in a way." He said. "I though HYDRA might act directly, which is why I told you in case you needed to brief the others – no sense worrying them if nothing happened. It seems, though, that they are also using contractors. The men who were trying to kidnap Dr Croft were SPECTRE."

"We're sure?" She asked.

"It's not the kind of thing Armand would make a mistake about." Bett said.

Jane sighed. SPECTRE - Special Executive for Counter-intelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion – had recently been revived from a moribund state by its founders' grandson, Heinrich Blofeld. Blofeld had taken advantage of the vacuum left by the demise of Simon "the Black Spirit" Darcourt to grow the business even more. Betts' team had encountered them more than once recently, and both sides had developed a healthy professional respect for each other.

"SPECTRE are private sector." She noted. "Not ideologically driven like HYDRA. On the one hand, it makes them more dangerous, but on the other..."

"We'll be dealing with professionals, not fanatics." Bett finished. "I'll look into this Dr Strange for you. The team are on watch, so get some sleep. And Jane..."

"I know." She said. "A-fag."

She glanced at Lara, sound asleep, before she settled into the neighbouring bed. _A-fag._ She thought. _All fun and games until somebody loses an eye. You found that out far too young, lassie!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Elfstones are Forever**

 **Chapter 3**

Vie de Marlie is an island approximately half the size of Great Britain, conveniently located well away from all main shipping lanes and commercial flight-paths, and rendered magically unplottable except for aircraft and vessels either originating there or registered to specific organisations. It contains a number of villages and hamlets, the ruins of a medium-sized town and one small city called Fortuna.

SHIELD, of course, is one of the organisations whose craft can find the island, and Bruce Wayne was currently piloting the Jumper across it toward Fortuna. Cypher looked out of the window and gave a low whistle.

"Something hit that town hard!" He noted.

Draco nodded. "Indeed. If I recall my History of Magic correctly, the original settlement was built around the so-called Temen-ni-Gru, an immense tower that was a direct portal between Earth and the Realm of Chaos. In around 100 CE the Chaos Lord Sparda closed off and buried the tower, but the town continued. In 1979, the late and unlamented Lord Voldemort staged an attempt to raise the tower. This proved to be a feint designed to trap Sparda back in his own Realm, and succeeded in doing so. Some ten years later, Vergil Sparda attempted to raise the tower again and was stopped by his brother Dante, who destroyed the Temen-ni-Gru at the cost of considerable collateral damage. The town has been uninhabited since, except for a garrison of the Brotherhood of the Sword."

"How come you know all this?" Cypher wanted to know.

"I'm a wizard." Draco told him. "Vie de Marlie is one of two countries in the world where the International Statute of Secrecy is not applied. Wizards live openly alongside muggles here, so the history of this country would be part of the History of Magic syllabus for that reason alone, even if the other momentous events had not occurred."

"Fortuna Tower, this is SHIELD Jumper Sierra Oscar Golf one-three requesting landing clearance. Over" Bruce said into his radio.

"Sierra Oscar Golf one-three, this is Fortuna Tower. Roger your request, we've been expecting you. Do you require a runway? Over."

"Negative, tower. VTOL craft. Over."

"Understood. Use Pad 4, it's designed for heavy choppers, so you should be fine. Come right fifteen degrees and keep altitude and airspeed steady. Visibility is excellent, light westerly breeze, gusting to 3kph maximum. Stay on this frequency for further instructions. Tower out."

Fortuna Airport was clearly more used for cargo than passenger flights, Bruce noted. He saw a great many cargo transports, but no airliners. There was, however, more helicopter traffic than usual and a number of light aircraft were visible. A courteous airport official met them off the plane and took them to the main terminal in an electric buggy. Immigration and Customs were mere formalities, their SHIELD IDs clearing them almost automatically. Their weapons were checked by a friendly militia-man, who was clearly impressed by the top-of-the-range SHIELD hardware, while an equally amiable Whitelighter passed a Secrecy Sensor over them and inspected Dracos' wand with admiration and not a little envy.

"An Ollivander!" She said delightedly. "We don't see many of those here! The Ollivanders train some of our local wand-makers, but we don't often get to see the genuine article."

On leaving the terminal, they were met by a young man with chiselled features, pale grey-blue eyes and long white-blond hair.

"You the SHIELD people?" He asked.

Draco nodded. "Malfoy." He said. "Draco Malfoy. These are Agents Wayne and Ramsay."

The young man grinned and put out a hand. "Nero Sparda." He introduced himself. "Uncle Dante asked me to take you to the Temple. He'd have come himself, but he's got a job come up."

The lads' vehicle of choice was a gleaming Jeep SUV, and he drove it as if he owned it – which is to say, as if he owned the road. Fortuna was clearly a city of two halves. Coming away from the airport they entered a business district which was all steel and glass high-rises, interspersed with large shops and up-market cafés and restaurants. Beyond that was a belt of modest urban housing, mostly low-rise flats, Draco noted. Finally, there was a factory district which ran alongside the river that cut through the city.

On the other side of the graceful bridge, it was a different story. Here there were winding streets between rows of houses with stuccoed fronts and gaily painted shutters. There was a colonnaded market full of stalls and crowded with people. They crossed several squares surrounded by impressive stone buildings, where people sat at tables outside cafes, or examined the wares in the windows of boutique shops.

Then, finally, they passed through an arched gateway in a thick wall into an entirely different space. Here the streets were straight, laid out on a grid pattern. The blocks of buildings were a severe blend of classical and modernist – function and grace combined. Nero explained that this area was all the property of the Temple. The buildings were the living quarters of the priests, scholars and servants who worked there, as well as the barracks and training areas for the Brotherhood of the Sword – the elite force of warriors and wizards founded by Sparda and trained to combat the armies of Chaos.

At the centre of it all, separated by another, lower, wall, was the massive complex of the Temple itself, with its impressive dome. Nero parked the car and led the party through a side-door into one of the wings. Passing through a small ante-chamber, they came into a vast library, one that dwarfed anything any of them had seen before. Arranged in clear spaces among the shelves were tables with chairs, individual desks and even clusters of comfortable armchairs.

"This is the public Reading Room." Nero said in a low tone. "Anyone can come here to study, read or just browse. If you've got a specific question, the librarians can guide you to the right section or even refer you to a Scholar. We believe that everyone has the right to knowledge."

"See many orang-utans?" Cypher asked.

Nero blinked at him. "I've heard stories about one being seen in here. How did you...?"

Cypher shrugged. "Every big library I was ever in – and I've been in a lot – has a story about an orang-utan. One day I'm going to figure out what's behind them all."

Neros' expression indicated that, for now at least, he wasn't inclined to go there. Instead, he led them up a a spiral staircase to the second floor, past more shelves, until he reached a wooden door, which was slightly ajar. Knocking briefly, he led the way into what would have been a quite large office, if it hadn't been crowded with books and papers. In among all this, like islands in a sea of paper, were a desk and chair, and four armchairs surrounding a coffee table.

At the desk sat a silver-haired woman, who watched them with bright hazel eyes over a pair of half-moon spectacles in an unlined face.

"Hello, Nero dear." She said. "Are these the people from SHIELD who've come to see me?"

"Yes, Scholar Evangeline." He replied. "These are Agents Malfoy, Wayne and Ramsay."

"Splendid!" She said, getting up from her desk, a robust, matronly figure in her white Scholars' robe. "I'll make tea. Thanks for bringing them, Nero, dear. Now I know Kyrie is rehearsing today in the Music Room, so you'll have plenty to occupy you. I'll send for you when our guests are ready to leave. I only hope they pay more attention to me than you ever did, dear!"

Nero rolled his eyes, winked at the others and left. Scholar Evangeline got them all settled at the coffee table, then looked them up and down.

"Well, now," she said, "I wasn't very surprised when you called to say you were coming. I'd had Laras' email, of course. If the city she discovered is, as it very well might be, Minas Tirith, then it certainly extends human history a lot further back than we'd believed.

"But that's not what you're here about is it? You want to talk about the objects Lara found and why HYDRA might be after them."

"Very astute, Scholar." Draco allowed. "Those of us familiar with what we must now call Professor Tolkiens' 'translations' have no difficulty in recognising the items Dr Croft acquired as a _palantir_ and the Elessar brooch mentioned in the books as a love-gift to Aragorn from the Lady Arwen. We had hoped you might be able to supply us with fuller information on the artefacts."

"Hmm." Evangeline mused. "Well, to begin with, Professor Tolkien did not translate the books. Well, he did, but not from the Westron. The copies Lord Sparda gave to him were of Latin translations made years before here in the Temple. Latin, of course, was no challenge for the Professor. Publication was a different matter.

"To publish the contents of the volumes as fact would have been impossible at that time. Instead, Professor Tolkien applied his penchant for storytelling and his knowledge of myth-structure to transform a long and rather dry narrative history covering millennia into a series of best-selling books. In doing so, he telescoped events, mythologised characters and changed the scientific into the supernatural.

"For instance, neither the Valar nor the Eldar were native to Earth. The studies undertaken by the StarGate project confirm that the Valar and their kindred the Maiar were actually semi-Ascended, possessed of advanced technology and immense psychic abilities. The Eldar came from what is called in their histories 'the Webway' -some kind of hyperspace – the ones who came to Earth were exiled among their kind. The Eldar were technologically advanced, relying heavily on crystal matrices to store, control and enhance various forms of energy, including mental.

"Despite themselves, the Eldar became embroiled in a civil war between Valar factions, siding with Manwe, whose technology was compatible with their own, against Melkor, the master of Dark Energy, and his successor, Sauron."

"Tolkien was known to dislike technology in general." Draco remarked. "He must have thought it great fun to turn it into magic in his books."

"Oh, he did more than that!" Evangeline grinned. "Would it surprise you to know that the One Ring was not Saurons' creation, but a weapon devised by the Eldar to turn his own Dark Energy power sources against him?"

"Well, that makes sense." Bruce remarked. "More sense than making your life and power dependent on an artefact that can be stolen from you and destroyed."

"Voldemort did something similar. Several things, in fact." Draco pointed out. "Though I am constrained to point out that, in retrospect, it seems the late Tom Riddle was not the sharpest knife in the drawer. He was defeated by Harry Potter, after all."

"So true." Evangeline agreed. "Though young Mr Potter is rather shrewd, if something of an opportunist.

"It might also interest you to know that Bilbo Baggins and his nephew Frodo came by their not-inconsiderable wealth by being the leaders, in succession, of a noted company of Halfling mercenary commandos, specialising in infiltration and assassination. That is why they were asked to do the things they did, both in Erebor and Mordor.

"The Company of the Ring was an alliance of like-minded military men and politicians, not a questing fellowship. Meriadoc Holdwine commanded a regiment of Shire-Borderers and Peregrin Trollslayer a company of archers. Gimli captained a troop of Dwarf sappers. Legolas was an Exarch of the Dark Reapers - Eldar riflemen of grim reputation. As for Aragorn, his 'thirty grey-clad Rangers of the North' were actually three thousand hardened guerilla fighters who had spent their lives – as had several generations of their ancestors- trying to restore the House of Isildur to power in Arnor."

"What about Gandalf?" Cypher wanted to know.

"A direct agent of the Valar." Evangeline told them. "A Maiar Psyker of more than ordinary power."

"All undoubtedly fascinating." Draco pointed out. "But not really what we came to find out. May I ask about the artefacts?"

"Of course, dear." Evangeline smiled. "The _palantiri_ , or Seeing Stones, we know a fair amount about. They are, as you have probably surmised, Eldar technological devices rather than magical ones.

"Their primary use was for long-distance communication. They enable thought-transference across large distances, but only between stones. Their other use was surveillance. Depending upon the skill of the operator, they could observe events that had taken place a long way away. However, unlike the communication function, the observation function had a time-delay, showing the recent past rather than the immediate present.

"We know from the Red Book that the Eldar gave seven _palantiri_ to the Royal House of Numenor, and that Elendil and his people brought them back to Endor after the Fall. They were placed in strategic points throughout the North and South Kingdoms. Most of them were reported as lost over time, but the Red Book indicates that the Stones of Minas Ithil, Minas Anor and Orthanc remained in use at least until the Wars of the Ring. Two at least were captured by the Allies during the Wars and remained in use by the High Kings for some time after.

"Records become more bureaucratic after that, and of course, we have no way of knowing what occurred after the Great Cataclysm. However, toward the end of the last century, one _palantir_ came into the possession of the Sorceror Supreme – the Ancient One – and he passed it to his successor, Stephen Strange. The one Lara found is likely – given where she found it – to be either the Stone of Minas Anor or of Orthanc, both of which came into the possession of Aragorn."

Bruce frowned. "If HYDRA could reproduce that technology, they'd have communications we couldn't intercept and a way to spy on us we couldn't detect or counter."

"Ouch!" Cypher added.

"Succinctly put, Agent Ramsay." Draco said. "Scholar, what do you know about the other artefact?"

"The Elessar?" Evangeline frowned. "About its' history, a fair amount. It was crafted in Eregion, an Eldar enclave in Endor, by the Craftmaster Celebrimbor for the Farseer Galadriel. She gave it to her daughter, Spritseer Celebrian when she wed the Autarch Elrond. Celebrian passed the brooch to her own daughter, Farseer Arwen, who in turn gave it to her human lover, Aragorn.

"But as to its functions, we have no idea. They are described in the Red Book, but the technical sections are less easy to translate than the historical, social and philosophical ones."

"If you would allow it," Draco suggested, "Agent Ramsay here has a...gift...for languages. Could you let him see the relevant passage?"

"Oh!" Evangeline looked surprised. "Well, if you think it might help...I have a copy here somewhere..."

She handed Cypher two items, a leather-bound octavo volume and several sheets of A4 paper. "The book is a copy in the original script." She told him. "The sheets are a transliteration into the English alphabet. Do you need a pen or a notebook or something?"

"No, ma'am, this will do fine!" Cypher said, opening the book.

Draco had never seen Cypher use his Mutant ability before, and was not sure what to expect. In the event, it turned out to be similar to watching a witch or wizard use the Sight. Cyphers' eyes seemed to focus inward, while still being fixed on the page in front of him. An intense concentration overtook him, so that he appeared to be unaware of his surroundings. He began to turn pages, at first slowly, but then more quickly, in the manner of a speed-reader. Finally, he closed the book, leaned back with eyes shut, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he sat up and grinned at his audience.

"New language." He said. "Kind of a head-rush.

"OK, so the crystal in the brooch absorbs energy. Solar, kinetic, body-heat from the wearer, almost any form of ambient energy, and stores it. It uses it to protect and heal the wearer. It can even absorb the force of a killing strike or energy weapon to heal the wound almost instantly. If the wearer has any psychic Healing ability, the stone will enhance it to help heal others."

"Handy little gadget." Bruce noted.

Evangeline frowned. "Well, that explains something. Aragorns' supposed distant ancestor was an Eldar Psyker named Luthien who had high-level healing abilities. It's claimed that she passed this talent along to her descendants, and Aragorn is credited with several remarkable feats of healing. Even allowing that he was probably a decent field medic, if he had some of that ability, and the brooch enhanced it..."

She shook her head, then looked at Cypher. "How?" She asked.

He shrugged. "I'm a Mutant." He admitted. "I do languages, math, computer software. Just the way my brain's wired up."

"Well," she replied, "if you ever decide to leave SHIELD, there's a job for you here!"

Sergeant Korsak looked up as a large shadow loomed over his desk. The big black man standing in front of him flashed a wide, easy grin and presented his ID.

"Sgt Korsak? I'm Agent Rhodes, with SHIELD." He said. "These are Agents Rosenberg, Delacour and Kent."

"Geez!" Korsak said. "You guys got here fast! I only just made the phone call!"

Rhodey blinked at the grizzled detective sergeant. "I'm sorry?" He said. "What phone call? Look, we needed to see some people at a company called Penguin Confidential Logistics, but when we arrived, there was crime scene tape all over the place. One of your officers told us there'd been a shooting and to come talk to you at Homicide."

"That was the case we were calling your people in on." Korsak said. "Maybe you're ahead of us. Look, there was a break-in at Penguin this morning, just before the office opened. What the burglar didn't know was that the companys' Head of Security, guy called Jack Napier, was on-site early.

"So Napier challenged the burglar, who took a couple shots at him. Napier fired back and killed the guy. At least, that's his story. We got the Crime Scene people confirming that, and we got Napier in Interrogation. So far, it all looks clean.

"But we got prints from the burglar, put them in the system and got a hit. Larry Michaelson, his name is. Got a jacket for burglary and grand larceny, but only one conviction -he's good at covering his tracks. We know he only steals to order, so we checked his phone messages and financials. His recent calls came from or went to three different burner phones, but there was a large deposit into his account by a loan company. No loan documents, though. So we looked into the company and that's when our screens went blank except for a message to call you guys. I'd just got off the phone with your Boston office when you turned up."

Rhodey nodded. "OK."He said. "Willow, call the Boston Office and tell them we'll take it from here, then get on one of these computers and use SHIELD access to dig into this loan company.

"Sgt Korsak, we need to speak to the CEO of Penguin. Do you know where we can contact him?"

"Mr Cobblepot?" Korsak said. "He's right here, came in worried about his employee, he said."

"Right!" Rhodey decided. "Gabbi, you go talk to Mr Cobblepot. Clark, go and have a word with Napier. I have to check in with the Boss and our people in New York."

Gabrielle went to see Cobblepot accompanied by a tall, handsome young detective named Frankie Rizzoli. She was used to the effect she had on men, and tended to measure them by how they handled it. Rizzoli had blinked a couple of times and was clearly more than a little impressed by her, but had rapidly shaken it off and become thoroughly professional.

Oswald J Cobblepot, Esq, as his business card announced him, was a different matter altogether. He was short, perhaps 5' 4", a barrel of a man with broad shoulders, sturdy legs, perhaps a suggestion of a paunch and thick, powerful arms ending in wide, stubby-fingered hands that looked capable of throttling an ox. His sleek dark hair was receding, leaving a pronounced widows' peak over a high forehead, and his dark, piercing eyes were set on either side of a long, sharp nose. His voice was a smooth baritone, with more than a hint of an English accent. He took in Gabrielle in one long, admiring glance, then got down to business.

"Detective Rizzoli," he said, "while I appreciate of your hospitality, and was impressed by the quality of the coffee you kindly served me, I really cannot remain here all day. I hope you have some good news for me?"

"Shouldn't be too long." Rizzoli replied. "But we do have to ask the questions. You don't have to wait here."

"Oh, but I do." Cobblepot told him. "Jack – Mr Napier – is an employee. I have a duty of care, a responsibility for his welfare. A responsibility I take seriously, Detective. My firm is a small one, and such small acts help to ensure my employees' comfort and confidence. This in turn makes them more productive, the company more profitable, and I am able to pay them better. What goes round comes round.

"However, may I ask who this charming young lady is?"

"Agent Delacour, with SHIELD." Gabrielle introduced herself. "We have reason to believe that this mornings' incident has to do with a specific item, belonging to a client of yours, that is of interest to certain parties."

"You mean HYDRA!" Cobblepot growled. "I read the papers, _Mademoiselle_ , I'm not a bloody fool. If there's something in my warehouse that HYDRA wants, they're not getting it if I can help it. I've always worked with law enforcement, right, Detective?"

Rizzoli nodded. "Mr Cobblepot has co-operated on several cases with the DEA and the ATF, as well as Boston PD."

"I promise my clients confidentiality." Cobblepot stated. "I don't promise to ship drugs or weapons. It might cost me the occasional contract, but a reputation for integrity doesn't hurt with the genuine clients."

Detective Jane Rizzoli knew SHIELDs' reputation for hiring... _unusual_...agents, but she had never more than half believed it. Now, though, she wasn't so sure. There was something... _off_... about the man who had introduced himself as Agent Clark Kent. He was shorter than she, but broad and, as far as she could see, unusually buff – ripped, in fact. That wasn't so bad, nor were the handsome, olive-skinned features. But the man wore dark glasses, indoors, and moved with a lightness that belied his stocky bulk. Then there was his voice - she had never heard a bass quite so deep, and there were suggestions of even lower tones she couldn't quite hear. The guy was probably some kind of Mutant, she decided, but he was on their side, so she'd treat him as a fellow professional. Her Mom would freak out if she knew Jane had been within a mile of a Mutant, but she didn't need to know.

"So, what do we know about Mr Napier?" He asked.

Jane shrugged and handed him the file. "Jonathan 'Jack' Napier, 42, 6' 5", brown and brown, tattoo of a playing card – a Joker – on his upper left arm. Born in New York, had a couple incidents as a juvenile -fights, he had a temper. Graduated High School and enlisted in the Army. Got into the Rangers, served in Iraq and Afghanistan, made Sergeant. Two Purple Hearts, Bronze Star, five commendations for valour. High IQ but psych eval said he wasn't officer material. Served his term, honourable discharge. Been working in security ever since, the last three years with Penguin as Head of Security."

"How's he reacting?" Kent pursued.

"Well, he's been under fire before, so he's not as shaken as a civilian might be." Jane said. "But he's not happy about how it went down. Feels he should have taken the guy down without having to kill him."

"Hmm." Kent nodded. "Veteran. They train you to shoot to kill, the training never goes away, and when somebody fires at you, it all comes back."

"And somebody dies." Jane added. "I've seen it before."

"I need to talk to him." Kent said. "You can come in if you like."

"No problem." Jane said. "I'll watch from out here."

Napier was tall and wiry, with a long, gaunt face and eyes that had seen more than they wanted to. His thin-lipped mouth was as strict as a tablet, his voice an even tenor. After Kent introduced himself, Napier got straight to the point.

"What's this got to do with SHIELD?" He wanted to know.

Clark shrugged. "We think there's something in your warehouse that HYDRA are after. Could be your burglar was sent to get it."

Napier frowned slightly. "Could be." He allowed. "Look, the guy had taken one of our coveralls out of the staff room. We make sure our people change them every day and leave them at the office so we can launder them. He must have thought I'd think he worked there, but we don't employ above a dozen people and I know them all. He was working his way along the shelves, checking labels. So sure, he could have been looking for something specific."

"You're sure he was alone?" Clark asked.

"I didn't see anyone else." Napier replied.

"I know, but did you _feel_ anyone else?" Clark persisted. "That tingle in the back of your neck when you know somebody's out there?"

Napier put his head on one side. "Marines or Rangers?" He asked.

"Navy SEAL." Clark told him.

"Figures." Napier nodded. "And no, I know what you mean, but there was nothing."

It was just then that Jane Rizzoli came in to tell them that CSU had confirmed Napiers' story and that he was free to go.

Oswald Cobblepot had co-operated to the extent that they didn't need a warrant to search his premises. He'd also provided them with the probable location of the package from Istanbul the SHIELD team were interested in. He had, however, become a little irate when told that he wasn't to return to his office until the team were done there.

"We don't want to put you in harms' way, Mr Cobblepot." Rhodey explained.

Cobblepot snorted. "I went to an English Public School and served ten years in the Army – the _British_ Army, mind you – I'm not a man easily frightened, Agent Rhodes!"

Napier put a hand on his bosses' shoulder. "Oswald, I've had a Hell of a morning, and I could use a cup of coffee and a sandwich. I'll bet you could, too. Why don't we go get one while the agents do their job?"

"Ah, well, Jack," Cobblepot allowed. "I do owe you that much, I suppose."

"Good." Napier said. "'Cause you're buying!"

Now, of course, Rhodeys' caution had proved appropriate. The officers guarding the crime scene both lay dead in the street.

"Dammit!" Rhodey snapped. "Kent, you take Sgt Korsak round the back to the loading bay. Detective Rizzoli, you're with me. Agents Rosenberg and Delacour, make sure nobody comes out.

"Stay loose, people, and watch your fire. We need to take them alive if we can."

"No promises." Jane growled. "Those are cop-killers in there."

"Duly noted." Rhodey allowed. "Move out!"

Willow and Gabrielle watched them go. "Now I wonder." Gabrielle mused. "James is never sexist. So why are we left 'ere on the outside?"

Willow grinned and hefted the SHIELD sidearm she had drawn for forms' sake. "How good are you with these things, sweetie?" She asked. "I mean really?"

Gabrielle shrugged. "I 'ave practised, of course. But they are so 'eavy. I am not as skilled as I would wish to be."

"Me too." Willow agreed. "It's gonna take us some time to get up to a professional standard. Now if the bad guys in there are just gang-bangers, we'll be OK. But if they're HYDRA operatives, it's gonna come down to wands for us. Rhodey doesn't want to have to explain that, or have us edit any memories if he can help it.

"So we wait out here, and if the others come out and find a couple stunned bad guys, well, we were using tranks, weren't we?"

Inside, Jane was saying quietly to Rhodey. "We've got the edge here. Cobblepot gave us the layout. But we don't know how many there are."

"If it's a HYDRA team, there won't be less than five." Rhodey cautioned her. "They'll have split up to search, but they'll have a comlink. You take that side. If you find anyone, take them down fast, don't let them warn anyone."

Jane prowled along the rows of shelves until she heard a sound ahead. A muttered word – she didn't recognise it, but it sounded like cussing. She peeped round a corner to see a tall man in black coveralls and a ski-mask, his back to her, scanning the shelves. Moving quickly and quietly, she came up behind him, grabbed his head in both hands and slammed it against the metal shelf-supports, twice. He went limp in her grasp.

She lowered him to the floor and checked his pulse – slow but strong. With a grunt, she propped him in a sitting position against the shelves and cuffed him to them. Pulling off his ski-mask, she saw a chiselled face and cropped blond hair. Grabbing some duct-tape from a shelf, she tore off a length and gagged him.

Then she proceeded, but she hadn't gone more than a few yards when every instinct she had sent her diving to one side. A shot whistled past where she had been. Peering out from cover she saw another black-clad figure moving toward her, gun at the aim.

"I think you die, now, _puta_!" The man hissed. Then another shot sounded, some way off. The gunman turned instinctively and Jane put two rounds, right in the centre of body-mass, just as she had been trained. The man went down, groaning – still alive but incapacitated.

She felt something behind her, too late and everything went black for a moment. She couldn't have been out long, if at all, because when her vision cleared she was lying on the floor and a giant figure was standing over the man she had just shot.

"Ah, Pedro," the giant was saying in a deep rich voice with a French accent, "you were a good friend, you know? But we are trapped here, so you understand?"

" _Si._ " The man on the floor gasped. "Hail HYDRA!"

With that, the big man shot his colleague squarely between the eyes. Badly scared, Jane tried to scramble to her feet, but the black-clad killer had already turned.

" _Bien."_ He said. "I would rather not shoot a helpless opponent. Get up, _mam'zelle_. Since we are both to die, we should die on our feet, no?"

"No." Said another voice. Then the big man was hoisted off his feet and flung hard against the shelves. Behind him, Agent Kent nodded briefly to Jane before stepping over and disposing of his staggering opponent with an elbow strike. Jane stooped to pick up her Glock, and as she did so, Rhodes and Korsak appeared from different directions.

"You OK, Jane?" Korsak asked.

"Yeah," she told him, "I'm good. But if it hadn't been for Mr Muscles here, I might not be!

"Do we have the rest of them?"

"I'd already taken one down when I heard shots." Rhodey reported. "I was coming over to back you up, Detective, when I came across another heading in the same direction, so I tranked him.

"What happened here?"

Jane filled them in, then shook her head. "I don't get it. This guy just calmly shot his buddy in the head, and the other one just seemed to accept it."

They heard a low laugh and turned to the prisoner. Kent had trussed him up and removed his mask, revealing a handsome black face. He sneered at them now. "You cannot understand. You have lost the meaning of honour, of loyalty!" He made a sudden biting motion, and as Rhodey stepped forward with a warning shout, the man gasped "Hail HYDRA!". For a second, he was rigid, then he collapsed. Rhodey knelt beside him and felt for a pulse.

"Ah, crap!" He said. "Well, that proves these guys are HYDRA, all right."

"Dammit!" Jane swore, then turned and dashed back to the man she had overpowered and cuffed. Too late, he too was clearly dead.

"Clark," Rhodey said, "the guy I knocked out is three rows over and two back. Go find him and if he's still alive, trank him. Then get hold of Doug and tell him we need prisoner evac to the plane."

"What the Hell is going on?" Korsak asked.

Rhodey sighed. "Every HYDRA operative is fitted with three things." He said grimly. "A false tooth full of poison, a GPS chip and a heart monitor. If an operative is seriously wounded, captured, or otherwise unable to get away, they're supposed to use the poison.

"If they can't or won't, and their team-mates don't kill them, HYDRA are monitoring the GPS. Too long in the wrong place- a hospital, police station or SHIELD base, and they send a signal to the monitor. The monitor is packed with just enough explosive to destroy the heart when it detonates. It's also set to detonate if the GPS goes dark or somebody tries to remove the poison tooth.

"If you want to get a HYDRA agent alive for interrogation, you have to spoof the GPS, then remove the heart monitor and then the tooth. Then you have to convince HYDRA the agent is dead, because if you do, HYDRA will look after his family. If they figure he's alive, they'll kill them."

"Heck," Korsak said, "not even SPECTRE does that. They just provide fancy lawyers!"

"SPECTRE are civilised pros." Rhodey pointed out. "HYDRA are professional, but not civilised. They take a pride in being barbarians. You might want to remember that.

"OK, officers, we'll collect that parcel and get out of your hair now. I'm afraid SHIELD will want custody of our prisoners, but on the other hand, you don't want a HYDRA Strike Team hitting your station house!"

"No." Jane Rizzoli agreed. "We don't!"


End file.
